Ghost in the Machine
by bobmcbobbob1
Summary: Oddly enough, the world doesn't stop just because it shatters. All that's left is to struggle forward while we pick up the pieces. Sometimes, though, there are those who can still fulfill a promise that you will never be alone, and Shepard was one of them. Shakarian, set post ME3 with the control ending.


Hello, all.

This is set post ME3, with the control option ending and definitely Shakarian. Spoilers and such abound. One Shot. It's not necessarily a happy fic, but there's some good bittersweetness, if I've done my job right. Some good familiar faces pop up, but mostly we're going to hang out with Garrus.

/B\ stands for break, as the format change ate my normal page breaks. Please, enjoy!

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><p>There were very few turians that could turn down the Primarch. Of course, Garrus Vakarian had seen many things far more frightening than the ire of the former general. Thankfully for diplomacy's sake, he did not feel a need to reject this request. Or order as it were. Besides, there were only so many times he could calibrate every machine he could rest his hands on before people started to take notice or the machines simply needed only minor changes. No, it was decided on his behalf that he needed something else to do, now that the Reapers were controlled by some unseen, benevolent force and the rest of the galaxy had seemed content to start picking up the pieces. Much to the relief of many of his former crewmates, he had not been stubborn simply for the sake of being stubborn.<p>

His title was advisor or ambassador or councilor or some such thing. The details had not been of real concern to Garrus. No, the real difficulty was meshing in with the Citadel, colliding old memories with new attitudes and the shining new fixtures the Reapers had reconstructed within a few short months. The Mass Relays were proving far more difficult, oddly enough, but the asari had at least established a flimsy communication between the systems. Joker had mentioned that they looked like telephone operators from early twentieth century Earth. Garrus had replied that he'd have to take his word for it. Still, he had spent a lot of time there, making calls and vids to Palavan and otherwise acting as a face, scarred as it was, for the turian effort toward reconstruction. Primarch Victus had chosen him, he claimed, at least in part because he wanted another diplomat as miserable in politics as he was. He did not failed to mention, however, that Garrus was a face that all races and peoples would recognize. Garrus knew he was a second-class Shepard for the Propaganda Machine. But then, there really wasn't anyone else like Shepard.

Garrus took a deep, shuddering breath. No, there wasn't anyone else like Shepard.

Still, they were certainly alike in that neither of them were suited to take a cushy job without pushing their boundaries and trying to make a difference out of where they were. When Garrus managed to be in the middle of arguing with the salarians and krogen over which worlds were be reestablished to which species, Primarch Victus had to question the wisdom of his decision. Despite himself, Garrus had a particular pleased glint in his eye when the Primarch gave him the official chastisement and informal congratulation on his tactics. His solution to give it to the elcor after the devastation of their homeworld made for a lot of long calls, but all original parties were equally angry and otherwise satisfied that at least the others hadn't won.

Garrus never seemed to notice how the vids and other communications never glitched when he was making the call, despite the frustration of the asari that had lost her contact for the third or fourth time that hour in the station next to him.

/B\

Garrus had been at the Citadel for around a month when he received an email that he couldn't ignore. Liara was very persistent in posting the email notification on every possible screen in the small hotel room and somehow managed to hack his visor. He was worried that the notification would follow him through advertisements as he walked through the Commons, but the bombardment stopped as soon as he sent his affirmative. He would meet her in the Presidium.

Three minutes later, as Garrus began to settle into a few updates about tomorrow's problems, his visor, all datapads and screens exploded with color again. He growled in half-hearted irritation. "Alright, alright, Liara, now."

A quick shuttle ride later and he was overlooking the Presidium from what he had taken to calling "Liara's spot." Sure enough, she was leaning on the railing and watching the shuttles pass over the water reservoir.

"Somehow, I knew I'd find you here," he rumbled in greeting.

She turned her large, blue eyes away from the view. "I assumed you would know where to look. If you had taken too long, I had Glyph at the ready. He says hello, by the way."

Garrus tapped his visor. "I think I've seen enough interesting tricks today."

She smiled. "It's good to see you, Garrus."

"It's good to see you, too, Liara."

Garrus leaned against the railing, too, facing her. "Not that I'm complaining about seeing an old friend again, but what was the urgency?"

"I was monitoring some communications."

"Yes, I understand that's part of shadow broking. How goes the business these days?"

"Espionage is comparatively boring, but highly lucrative. Peace and war work very differently, as I'm sure you're aware. And I had spent so much time looking for information on the Reapers, well, it's always easier to dig when you know what you're looking for." A hardening crossed her features for a moment, and Garrus was reminded that this capable asari could be as ruthless as she needed to be. "At least until you know how to look."

"You would be the expert. All I've learned so far is to assume that most diplomatic statements are insults or threats, however nice they happen to sound."

She shook her head with a small laugh. "From some of the footage I've assembled, I would say you're not wrong. I could give you a few things on Primarch Victus, should you have need of them."

Garrus flared his mandibles with a small laugh of his own. "For a fee?"

"I would give you a discount," she replied flippantly, pushing off of the railing. "Shall I buy you a refreshment?"

Garrus inclined his head. "That almost makes up for it."

After they were seated and both had already taken a sip of their proper-base tea, Garrus inclined his head and pointed out, "You did not answer my question."

Setting down her cup with extra care, Liara met his eyes again. "No, I did not."

"I wanted to make sure you knew that I noticed," Garrus replied settling back in his chair, one arm raised over the back and the other stretched onto the table.

Liara focused her attention once more on her cup. Garrus found his eyes followed hers as she spun it to line up with the saucer just so.

"I've learned how to pay attention to the information that comes in, but every now and again, something jumps out that cannot be avoided." She finally raised her eyes again. "I have intercepted some communications that you should know about."

"Has someone ordered a hit on me? I could certainly use the excitement or at least a reason to carry more than a pistol around. Diplomats find assault rifles a little unnerving, apparently."

Liara reached forward and clasped his hand between hers. "No, Garrus. This was about Shepard."

Try as he might, Garrus could not keep from stiffening as a cold sensation washed through him. "Oh," was all he could manage, his subharmonics dipping to low registers.

Liara began to explain: "The apartment, it was rebuilt along with the Citadel, just as it was. No one has been quite sure what to do with it. There have been some calls to her mother, but she is presumed dead with the rest of her crew. A few other voices have popped in to the conversation, but I intercepted them and changed a few things to how they needed to be." She squeezed his talons gently. "Shepard would have wanted you to have it."

Garrus blinked and turned his gaze away. His mandibles flared again, and Liara responded with another small squeeze.

"It hasn't been easy on any of us," Liara whispered. "I wasn't sure I was going to be able to come to the Citadel, with all the memories made here. But for as much as it hurts, it also helps remind me of who she was outside of the press releases. I didn't want to bring this to you until it was evident that you were going to stay. I didn't want to tie you down to somewhere you couldn't bear." She gave his hand one final squeeze. "Shepard would have wanted you to have it." Liara settled back into her chair and waited patiently for his response.

Quietly behind them, the strains of a song filtered through, reminding Garrus immediately of the time he had forced Shepard to tango with him at the casino bar. Strange that it should be playing here and now. There were many good memories tied around the time the apartment had landed in her lap. Garrus still couldn't pass the sushi restaurant without a bittersweet smile and wondering how she had managed to get out of that one—it probably had something to do with her boyfriend swooping in to save her ass once again, but Archangel was good at that kind of thing.

"Garrus?"

Liara's polite inquiry pulled him out of his thoughts and he repositioned himself to set both hands around his cup. "Sorry, I went full drell for a moment there."

"It's alright," she promised with an understanding smile.

He took another long sip of his drink, wishing it were something stronger but grateful for the warmth that settled into his body.

Liara slid a small plastic card across the table. "Everything's been taken care of. You remember where it is?"

Garrus nodded.

"Good."

Wordlessly, Garrus rested a hand on the card, not daring to pull it closer.

Liara continued to sip her tea in silent companionship, not rushing him to say anything further.

After a few minutes in silence, Garrus clutched his hand around the card and allowed himself another sip of his drink.

"And by the way," Liara mentioned offhandedly, "There is an assassination attempt forming for Primarch Victus. I would advise against his afternoon appointments today."

He raised his glass to her, "A pleasure as always, Dr. T'Soni."

/B\

Garrus had never been so grateful for an assassination attempt. Primarch Victus was a good soldier, but it never helped to have another pair of eyes or someone with ties to C-Sec. Garrus's primary duties had changed again to include a lot of time babysitting as it were, as close or as far as he needed to be. One particular watch had led him to the very same nest where he'd had Sidonis pinned in his sights, until Shepard had managed to talk him out of it. He was grateful for it later, particularly as events traversed so quickly that later was always the time to think of things, but preserving the life of a pathetic, apologetic creature like Sidonis was still another reason he loved her, if only because she had stood up to him so fiercely. It had been an interesting revelation that day, when he returned seething to the main battery, how much he had changed in two years she had been gone. On more than one quiet moment, Garrus marveled how a not-so-typical investigation had set his life on a course he never could have imagined. He had gone from a naïve—well, as naïve as anyone in long-term law enforcement can be— and by-the-book investigator to a valued crew member in awe of this human woman's ability to flaunt possibility and fight for something bigger than First Contact Wars (or Relay 314 Incident, if you were a good turian) and old political squabbles. Then, a deep friendship that shattered as he watched from the window of the shuttle as her body tumbled into a meteorite down, down to a merciless, abrupt stop, a slow star burning brightly out of existence. What else was there to do but to try and fill the void she had left in the world? His time on Omega and the betrayal of his squad had left him more jaded than he could have realized and certainly more willing to bend the rules. Yet, the instant she fell into his scope when those mercs were closing in, Garrus knew in a rush of relief that somehow everything was going to work out, even after a rocket to the face.

From his high vantage point, Garrus watched as the Primarch greeted a few well-regarded Turians, and he stood back up. All three had passed inspection, with no potential ties, and were otherwise high ranking officers: Victus would be safe enough. As Garrus shouldered his rifle, he glanced down one last time, remembering how he had demanded Shepard to move out of his line of sight. As painful as it was to face Sidonis and to have Shepard intervene when he could not pull himself out of the bloodlust, it had opened the door for possibilities he hadn't known he ever hoped for. And soon after that incident, it became clear that by some unfathomable reason she wanted him, too; how terrified he had been to lose her respect.

The investigation itself was going slowly, particularly as any leads off of the Citadel needed to be handled by a different—and therefore less competent—party. Spectre Alenko had at least managed to help on one of the potentials; anything for an old friend, he'd said. And still for the first month, Garrus had avoided going into the apartment, but he was feeling increasingly guilty about returning to his tiny room at the hotel. As a result, he spent much of his free time, in whatever pattern it appeared this week, in between his work with the vids and harassing Bailey at C-Sec.

While out on his last patrol of suspicious activity surrounding the Primarch, Garrus had snagged the leader of the Eclipse after stumbling into the middle of a firefight. As his prisoner rattled off curse after curse, Garrus wondered once again when salarians drew breath. Bailey was pleased and pissed all at once.

"That's not the kind of thing I want to hold on to right now. Aria's breathing down my neck as it is. I will pay for her ticket back to Omega myself once the relays are repaired."

"And I'll give her a krogan-back ride to the ship," Garrus promised. He relinquished hold of his captive to processing and crossed his arms. "I don't suppose you have heard anything else on the Primarch?"

"Not since you asked me yesterday. I got more than one diplomat treating me like the concierge, so I typically stick with the normal brand of run-of-the-mill thugs. Wouldn't believe the asari ring we busted up yesterday. They were telling people that'd made a machine to contact the dead."

Garrus made a disapproving hum in his subharmonics.

"Some Matriarch has already seen to most of it, though. The look on their faces when she stormed in…" Bailey trailed off, savoring the memory. "But right, this guy. I don't want him in the holding cells for longer than I have to, so don't go telling everyone at the bar, okay?"

"I haven't had the need to brag for a long time, Bailey. Everyone already knows how amazing I am."

Bailey shook his head.

An explosion ripped through the main holding cells. Garrus, Bailey, and all other personnel that were still conscious stumbled about, ears or other relevant anatomy still recalibrating. The alarm blaring as the rubble and dust settled didn't help much. Bailey was barking orders and gesturing directions, but Garrus already had his gun out and took cover at the closest doorframe. Bailey and two other officers took the opposite side, Bailey with a pistol out.

"Told you I didn't want any of Aria's here longer than I had to," Bailey shouted over the din.

"Where's your sense of adventure?"

"I'm not a big fan of your kind of adventure, Vakarian. Desk jobs are supposed to be without this kind of bullshit. Should have listened to Shepard and gone to see my family when I had a chance, yet again."

Garrus's mandibles twitched lightly, but he didn't take his focus away from the settling cloud on the other end of the room. A few Eclipse mercs were guarding the door while a couple of others were directing their choice prisoners out the door. With a couple quick shots, Garrus had taken out two and moved to a closer area of cover while Bailey kept the others occupied with suppressing fire. The smoke and rubble was thick, but Garrus took his shots and swore as the last of the group managed to close the door behind him. Swearing under his breath, Garrus raced to the door and immediately started hacking it.

Bailey ran up next to him: "It's no good. I've seen these kinds of locks—"

The door sprung open.

Bailey blinked and followed Garrus down the hallway. "You need to show my officers how to do that. We've been trying to get around these locks for months. There are still some places blocked."

Garrus ducked behind some tall rubble as a shot whizzed past his head. "Maybe later, Bailey," he called.

/B\

Unfortunately, the damage to C-Sec was deep enough that Reapers would not be able to reach the necessary sections without causing as much damage as it repaired. That, and, despite their new propensity to fixing most everything, their presence still made a lot of people uneasy. Still, the Keepers, wherever they had come from, were in full force putting C-Sec to rights again.

Bailey, however, had just about had enough. Garrus chose, instead, to go straight back to his room rather than deal with his ill-temper.

Someone was in his room.

Against the doorframe and gun cocked, Garrus peered around the corner. Then, he took two steps into the room, kill shot in his sights. The figure tensed and raised his hands, slowly standing up.

"Cool it, Scars. Doc sent me." Vega peered over his shoulder and grinned.

"For what, Jimmy?" Garrus asked, setting the gun back on his back.

James Vega turned around, letting his arms return to his sides. "Said you can use a movin' buddy. Now, there's a tradition on Earth that if someone helps you move, you buy them a beer. And I'm talking real cerveza, not that dextro shit. Want to make sure you know that."

Garrus's brow knit in initial confusion, but it didn't take him too long to understand where he was moving to. "Liara thinks I'm taking too long."

James resumed his squat, setting Garrus's things into the box. "Don't know why you'd want to waste credits on a dump like this anyway."

Garrus didn't miss the wary eye his friend kept on him. He had seen that look before. The first two weeks after the Reapers suddenly switched from breaking things to fixing things, well, that had been hard on everyone, and Garrus had seen a lot of those looks. With the Citadel in the shape it had been in, no one seemed to carry any real hope that Shepard had managed to survive this time. Garrus had checked with Miranda's old contacts all the same. He had attempted a few other theories, too, that the Shepard that had made it up was somehow a clone or she was somehow protected by a Reaper. Communications were sparse on the crashed Normandy, but the ideas and the vids followed the same general trend. Thankfully, at least, they were not far from Sol and he could soon see the wreckage and the repair for himself. When a gentle hand had awakened him from where he had fallen asleep surrounded by datapads at a table rather than his bunk yet again, he had seen that look. When he had declined to join the group for any number of activities, he had seen that look. Everyone had lost someone, and they had also all lost Shepard. The crew was dealing with it in their own ways, but apparently his way of strictly refusing to talk about it was deemed "unhealthy." Still, it was hard for him to admit what he already knew and the week that he did had been harder still. When he had been asked to place her name on the memorial, he had not fought it and his acquiescence had only worried them further. Discipline and work were easier to bury himself in, by years of simply being turian, and soon the looks lessened as everyone had new problems to worry about. A few though—especially Liara, Tali, and somehow even James, in his own way—seemed almost hurt that he had retreated into himself and his work. All at once, everyone seemed to go their own way. The state of the mass relays meant that everyone was still nearby, comparatively, but just as it had happened twice before, the crew had quietly disbanded.

Garrus leaned against the wall with his arms across his chest, looking away. With a small nod, James continued to place the last few pieces of Garrus's belongings in the box. There wasn't much to pack. James loaded one box on his shoulder and the other under the other arm.

"Ready?"

Garrus pulled the card out of a small nook in his armor. "I suppose so."

"Primarch Victus going to be alright letting you on a longer leash?"

"Careful, Vega."

His bill had already been settled (and Garrus suspected that Liara might have had something to do with that, too), and James had a shuttle waiting.

Nodding toward the backseat and a pile of N7 armor, Garrus asked, "How's the training going?"

James gave a low chuckle. "What training? There ain't time for that shit right now. On the job training is where it's at. Still, they got some nice toys."

From there it was easy to talk shop for the short drive through the wards, the artificial sunlight of the Presidium fading away.

The easy flow of technical conversation faded, too, as they came to the front door. Garrus paused and eyed the card in his hand.

"If Grunt is on the other side playing bouncer again, I'll headbutt him in his thick skull," James promised.

Garrus shook his head. "I think there have been enough surprises today, if it's all the same." He had scarcely held the card to the lock when the door sprang open.

It was exactly as he remembered it. Exactly. Shepard hadn't had much time to redecorate after Anderson had signed it over to her, but those few things she had managed to be here all the same, including the group picture over by the bar. There was no sign of debris or damage. He went to check the security settings: even they were the same as he and Zaeed had set them, "I Heart Garrus" password and all. While Garrus was still puzzling out the how, James had already made his way over to the bar.

"It even comes fully stocked, Scars. That's one hell of a sweet deal."

"And that is not beer."

James grinned. "Nope." He pulled out a different bottle and second glass. "It's top shelf for us."

He held out the glass of Turian Brandy to Garrus and raised his own. "To Lola."

Garrus gave a snort and a half smile. "To Lola," he agreed solemnly.

/B\

Garrus finished the last bit of the paperwork on the Primarch's assassination attempt a week or so later. It was only a matter of time, really, until they slipped up, as messy as they had been with some of their contacts and as persuasive as Garrus could be in interrogation. Bailey had given him a lot of leeway and the use of an interrogation room, too, once Garrus cleared up a few of the strange locks around the Citadel. No matter what anyone else tried, Garrus just seemed to have the right knack. Bailey didn't care for an explanation so long as it worked. Between projects, Garrus took a closer look at the virus and noticed that a few small pieces of Reaper code were included in the door override, but otherwise he had no immediate leads on where it had come from.

There was little time to wait between assignments, however, as the Primarch was very good at delegating new tasks. Not for the last time, Garrus wondered how much better it might have been to be a Spectre and not have to cooperate with anyone but the Council, if he didn't want to. Still, diplomatic ties had to be preserved and C-Sec needed a copy of his report, specifically outlining the parts where he had used their resources and a few forms that Garrus was growing far too familiar with.

While he was leaving and mulling over the annoyances of diplomacy, a voice caught him in the hallway.

"What? Too busy to say hello?"

Garrus looked up. "Got a new one for a bounty, Zaeed?"

He tossed the bloodied vorcha to the booking officers. "It's what I do. Too bad for him no one has the patience for terrorists right now. Bastard put up a fight, though." Sure enough, there were a couple fresh blemishes and burns to his armor. Zaeed eyed him up and down for a moment. "Seen you on the vids a few times. Looks like you're quite popular. What, worried about using the wrong fork at a diplomacy dinner? Or that they don't have enough makeup to cover the scars?"

"Yes, Zaeed. Those are exactly the kinds of things that keep me up at night."

Zaeed checked his Omni-tool. "Looks like my reward is already in. Join me for a celebration?"

Garrus crossed his arms and regarded Zaeed with skepticism. "Depends on what you mean by celebration."

He did not expect to be at the arcade in front the crane game. Nor did he expect to be holding about six of Zaeed's prizes while he went for a seventh. There were a couple of people watching by this point, actually.

"Gotcha!" Zaeed cheered as he successfully dropped yet another prize to the slot.

"Did you practice this?" Garrus had to ask.

Zaeed shrugged. "Something just clicked, and I had the knack for it. Some guys got it, some guys don't."

"What are these things?"

"The prizes? Don't care really. It's about the sport."

"Zaeed, you didn't rig the machine, did you?"

"Hell no. It's all skill." He scoffed. "Hacking shit is your thing, not mine."

He stepped away and gestured toward the machine. "Give it a go."

Garrus held up his hands, best he could for as full as they were. "No thanks. Never tired it before."

After a little more goading and being called a "chicken," whatever that was, Garrus set his armload down.

He tried. He failed. "Not so easy now, is it?" Zaeed laughed.

"This doesn't prove to me that you didn't hack the machine," Garrus shot back.

Zaeed shook his head. "I told you, I just got the knack. I'm enjoying this. Give it another go. Don't tell me you've got the spine of hanar."

Garrus shook his head and focused on the game, calculating a few quick angles and running a few scenarios in his mind. He took his time shifting the crane, muttering about calibrations under his breath. Zaeed shot him one hell of a dirty look when he managed to gently lift the glowing ball and set it through the slot.

"Vakarian, even you aren't that good with calibrations."

/B\

It had been a rather low day for Garrus. Some days would always be harder than others and thankfully he had this day off from any real responsibility. It had started with an old vid of Shepard, talking about the future. His mood had spiraled from there. He managed to make himself eat something—some of the dextro-cheese even had green leafy bits that added something to the flavor, he supposed—and he sat down on the piano bench, looking out the window at the shuttles flying by.

His future. Last he had talked to Shepard, they had talked about a future. Spirits, he'd even brought up the idea of a family. Garrus rested his head in his hands and simply hurt.

It wasn't a luxury he afforded himself often, the time to be still and allow himself to feel whatever he needed to feel. It had always been better, he told himself, to bury himself in a project. Projects didn't require you to understand what you were feeling. Projects provided you with time until you could ignore whatever you were avoiding until you started to believe it went away. Turians had a reputation for being somewhat cold; they usually preferred "pragmatic" or "reserved." But they still felt deeply, Garrus knew. They still felt deeply.

Wandering back toward the bar, he looked up at the picture on the wall, a perfectly preserved moment when they were both happy.

All at once, Garrus couldn't stand to be in the apartment. Making the request on his Omni-tool as he walked, there was a shuttle not two minutes after he made it out the front door.

He didn't know where he was driving until he got there. The top of the Presidium was as bright as ever. The view had changed a little bit certainly, but it was still spectacular, 137 regulations be damned. He set the car down softly and held on to the steering wheel with a tight grip, taking a few long deep breaths. After a couple more moments, he forced his hands to relax, slowly allowing the sensation to follow up his tense arms until he had regained full control and exited the shuttle.

It was colder than he remembered, but to be fair, his armor cut the wind much better than his civvies. He took a few blind steps closer toward the edge and managed to sit himself down, dangling his feet over the edge. Garrus looked down. The lake glimmered innocently a long ways below him. It would be such an easy thing to slide off the edge and worry about nothing else. Garrus rubbed one hand along his fringe then rested his arms on his legs, looking out. For some time, he thought about everything and nothing, but most certainly he thought the last time he had been here and the first time Shepard had said, "I love you, Garrus Vakarian." A bittersweet warmth filled his body, quickly swallowed by regret. He leaned back and set his arms behind him.

Then Garrus paused. There was something wrong with the texture of the structure under his left hand. He looked behind him and saw a small, metal rectangle bolted down. Curious, Garrus leaned closer and read the engraving: GARRUS VAKARIAN'S FAVORITE SPOT ON THE CITADEL.

Garrus slammed the shuttle door shut and drove back to the apartment in a blur.

Out of the shuttle, Garrus didn't know how many people he collided with on his way into the apartment, but nothing slowed him down.

The door opened of its own accord as soon as he was close enough and he ran for the stairs. He yanked open drawers rifling through one, then the next. He tore the box that James had brought his belongings in the effort to find what was inside.

And then, his hand rested on a small box. He remembered when Joker had given it to him, stating that he wasn't sure if it would make Garrus feel better or worse. Garrus frowned in frustration that his fingers shook as he loaded it into his Omni-tool and into the apartment's interface. EDI, Joker promised, had scrubbed the rest of them out, so that no one could reprogram Shepard to be anything but what she was, but this lone VI they had kept and gifted to him.

The orange form of his lover materialized before him.

"I'm Commander Shepard of the Alliance," the VI announced standing stiff and firm.

"No, you're not," Garrus growled, disappointment deep in his stomach. He turned away, cradling his head in his heads.

The VI softened out of its stance and shifted back into his range of vision. "No, I'm not," it agreed.

Caught between demanding and pleading, Garrus glared and asked, "Then what are you? The technology on this whole damn place works just too well and only for me. Perfect vids connection, familiar music, hacks to unhackable doors—"

"The crane game?" the VI prompted.

Garrus's eyes widened and he took a step back. Then he frowned again and took two steps forward. "Most of all there's this." He gestured to the apartment. "It's too perfect." He let his arms collapse to his sides and took a long breath. "I need to know how all this is possible."

A half smile appeared on VI Shepard's face. "You're a good investigator, Vakarian. You already know."

And Garrus did. He had been there for the aftermath of what had happened to Legion. "How much of Shepard is in the Reapers?"

"All of her. Her memories, her thoughts, they are with all of us, perhaps more in me because of this interface. And she had made a promise that you would never be alone."

Garrus's eyes widened again and he felt a sharp ache well up inside him again. He blindly felt for a chair and sat down, staring at a spot on the floor. "Is that also why the Reapers are taking their time on the relays? With how fast they rebuilt the Citadel, it shouldn't take this long."

"Shepard wanted to make sure that you would have other support if you needed it. And, there are a few other answers that you will be needing." The VI began to tick off points on her fingers, "firstly, she got the killshot this time."

Garrus laughed humorlessly. The VI stepped closer and reached and intangible hand to his face. He met her eyes again.

"No, it wouldn't bring her back to put this VI in a robot body, at least not the way you would want. There is no coming back from where she has gone. There was nothing else you could have done to save Shepard as you knew her. She loved you. And most importantly, she knew that you loved her."

Garrus reached his hand up and could almost feel her five fingers under his three. "I—I should have told her more than just that once. I keep thinking about how—"

She shushed him gently. "She knew, Garrus. That was enough."

The VI rested her forehead on his and Garrus wasn't sure how long they stayed that way. He was trying to soak everything in and keep breathing; his head was swimming.

"I'm not going to promise to move on," he declared after a long silence, sitting taller again.

"No one would make you, but you can."

"I'm not going to promise that I won't find something stupid to do to get killed."

"You always were stubborn, Vakarian."

"Then what is this really about?"

"This is her promise that you would never be alone," the VI answered, as if it were obvious.

Garrus nodded and absorbed the information.

"I have one last question, then. Is she waiting for me at the bar?"

The VI smiled. "Shepard does what she can to keep her promises."

Garrus slept better that night than he had in a long time.


End file.
